


Carving Out a Space

by FaeOrabel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Groupies' Knockturn Tricks or Diagon Treats Fest, Death Eaters, F/M, Good Death Eaters, Halloween, Halloween traditions, Not Canon Compliant, Post-War, Pumpkin carving, Pumpkin/Jack-O-Lantern, Pumpkins, Pureblood Hermione Granger, Rebellious Thorfinn, Reserved Dolohov, Secret Daughter, Secret Relationship, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeOrabel/pseuds/FaeOrabel
Summary: When Hermione Granger takes on two Death Eaters as part of a rehabilitation program, she gets more than she bargained for.Antonin wasn’t sure if fate liked him or hated him at this point.Thorfinn just wanted to eat.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle
Comments: 16
Kudos: 167
Collections: Knockturn Tricks or Diagon Treats





	Carving Out a Space

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [KnockturnTricksOrDiagonTreats](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/KnockturnTricksOrDiagonTreats) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Treat: Pumpkin/Jack-O-Lantern
> 
> Thank you to my love, KoraKwidditch, as always for betaing this piece. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Anything recognizable is not my own and belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**Carving Out a Space**

* * *

Antonin wasn’t sure if the squeaky wheel of the cart or the baby crying in the produce section was going to make him lose his mind first. If he were a betting man, it would be on the squeaky wheel. 

Stopping the cart next to the two large crates, he sighed deeply. He knew this would make the little witch happy, but he honestly felt like he had no idea what he was doing again. It wasn’t his first time at the market for groceries, but it was the first time he had to pick out the “perfect pumpkins.” What the hell made a pumpkin perfect? None of these had stasis charms, and she was just going to put one on them anyway, so why did she have to make this so hard for him?

Antonin was used to just telling a house-elf to grab some and decorate however they wanted. He generally did not care whether the pumpkin was “perfect” or not. And he sure as hell never had to take into consideration all the things that made them suitable for carving or not. But he wanted to please her. 

Ever since he’d been assigned to her for the rehabilitation program, he knew he would do anything to make her happy. She had no idea just why that was, and he was always careful to never show his determination—being a Slytherin, it should be effortless—but he did everything in his power to make up for his part in the war.

The way he found out she was his daughter was… less than ideal. It still kept him up most nights, or waking up in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, and wishing he could take it back. But he couldn’t go back and change it, so he did everything he could to make it like it never happened. Antonin found very early on that she wasn’t impressed with large displays like he was used to doing for witches. She enjoyed the little things and especially loved when he would just sit and listen to her. When he offered to do the grocery shopping two years ago, he thought she was going to faint. 

Thankfully for him, Hermione Granger was a very forgiving witch. 

Antonin knew he didn’t deserve this second chance, but he would never be more grateful for anything else in his life. Well… other than if she accepted him as her father—a fact he had yet to tell her. Antonin had no idea how to broach a subject like that, especially after three years of being in her care. 

First, it was the fact he was trying to get used to being under her supervision. According to the rehab program, he had to live with her, help her with tasks the Muggle way, and allow her to teach him about the Muggle world. It was a tad demoralising, even without the fact she was his daughter; she was so much younger than him, and he had to allow her to be in charge of his person. The goal was for people like him, on the wrong side of the war, to see the “error of their ways.” But Antonin had seen that long ago, the night he found out the witch he’d be destined to live with was his kin.

The only people who could have survived a curse like the one he’d thrown that night those teenagers broke into the Ministry were witches and wizards in the Dolohov bloodline. 

He didn’t know immediately, for he’d figured she’d died. But when news of Hermione Granger making a miraculous—though lengthy—recovery reached him, he knew. Antonin had only bedded one witch in his life around the time of her birthday; the only other women he’d had were ones he’d taken by force upon the orders of Riddle. The witch had fled from the life she knew Antonin was getting into—fled from him. They graduated from Hogwarts and were going to start a life together, but when Antonin’s father sat him down in a meeting with a man he called Lord Voldemort, she and Antonin both knew life would not go the way they planned. 

Antonin never held anger for her choice until he realised she’d stolen his daughter along with the life he wanted. 

As much as he had been convinced and won over by Riddle’s rhetoric, Hermione dashed it all in a single night. He’d locked himself away when he knew she’d survived and went over everything he believed, everything he’d ever been told. 

It all had to be a lie. 

While this girl was  _ pureblood _ —a word Antonin now spit, knowing how impure pureblood lineages really were—she didn’t grow up in a Wizarding home. Every privilege afforded to pureblood children simply by their birth, she didn’t have, and yet, she still bested them all. The young Malfoy was a prime example; Hermione blew Antonin away and in a single moment, became his entire world. 

The only problem Antonin now faced—other than his possibly damning secret—was that Thorfinn Rowle was also under her care. A man he thought of as a little brother, since Thor hated his own father and wanted no replacement, was falling for his little girl. Antonin didn’t begrudge Thor’s feelings, his Hermione was indeed an amazing choice, but he still felt a small pit in his stomach anytime he saw the way Thor looked at her. Antonin had just gotten her back, and Thorfinn could be the reason he lost her all over again. 

It took a lot for him to admit that Thorfinn would be a good match for her. Remembering all the little rebellions Thor did during the war against Riddle made him smile now, but it used to give him premature grey hair and cause utter frustration. Antonin was the only one who knew of Thorfinn’s hatred for the Dark Lord and his championing of the Light. He’d sabotaged missions and gave away secrets whenever he could without getting caught—hell, Thor was the reason they didn’t catch the Golden Trio the night they ran away from the wedding raid. Thor just hadn’t been aware how much Antonin didn’t want to catch them as well. 

“One problem at a time, Antonin,” he muttered to himself. He picked up a seemingly good enough pumpkin and inspected it for any impurities. It was large enough, didn’t feel soft in any places, and had a somewhat flat side for suitable carving. He found two others like it and finished the list he’d been given that morning. 

Checking out at the till, he returned the blasted squeaky cart with the rest of them and glared at it one final time before walking home. 

Another unfortunate part of the program was being stripped of his wand. 

The Ministry had snapped the wood in his face, and his sentence was one where he’d never be granted to have one again. Thor, however, would be allowed to undergo another hearing in two years; five years after his sentencing. It looked good for him to be able to be found worthy of a wand, and Antonin was proud of him. 

If Antonin had followed in his footsteps instead of falling headfirst into Riddle’s trap, he might be in the same position. Sighing, he once again dashed his hopes away so as not to dwell on them, resigning to try and be comfortable with the little amount of wandless magic he could do. He was only able to do it in Hermione’s home, though, since he had a modified version of the Trace on him in the form of a nondescript cuff. 

“I’m back!” he called out to the other residents of the home and wandered into the kitchen to put away the food. 

Dropping the pumpkins on the kitchen table, he silently thanked being able to release them. Peeking into the living room, he saw Thor and Hermione sitting suspiciously far away on opposite sides of the couch and staring at the TV as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. 

Fuck. 

“Thor? Help me with the groceries?” Antonin asked pointedly. 

Thor got up and started walking to the kitchen, but glanced back at Hermione, which only confirmed Antonin’s suspicions. Instead of immediately getting to the food, Antonin leant back against a counter and folded his arms across his chest, staring Thorfinn down. 

“How long, Rowle?”

“How long what?” Thor asked, not meeting Antonin’s eye and scratching the back of his head as he tried to look over the groceries. 

“You’re acting like a terrible Slytherin right now,” Antonin raised an eyebrow. 

Thor finally looked at him then; his face blank in a way that screamed Antonin’s comment did not amuse him. 

“Fuck off, Antonin,” Thor grumbled and began putting away the perishables. 

Antonin sighed and shook his head, starting on the pantry foods. Hermione skipped into the kitchen then and looked over the pumpkins. 

“Oh, they will be perfect!” she exclaimed, holding one up and turning it around. 

“Remind me again why we must carve them by hand with those stupid little tools you made me buy,  _ Pchelka _ ?” Antonin asked while sorting cereal. 

“Because I’m teaching you another Muggle tradition! Halloween, Samhain, is in a week, and I did this every year with my parents. It’ll be fun!”

Antonin flinched at the word ‘parents’ and saw Thor throw him a pitying look out of the corner of his eye. 

He’d confessed Hermione’s true parentage to Thor the night after the failed capture in that little London cafe. 

Thor continually pressured him to tell her, but seeing how heartbroken she was after discovering the memory charm could never be reversed on her other parents... He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He and Thor helped her heal from it, but Antonin felt like it would have been belittling to her loss. As if “Oh, I know you lost your parents, but guess what they were never your parents anyway and I’m your dad. Surprise!” was somehow supposed to go over  _ well _ . 

Thorfinn teased her about her traditions while Antonin lost himself in memories and finished the groceries. 

“We can carve them tomorrow since I’ll be off work,” Hermione said, throwing a long-lasting stasis charm around them and leaving them on the table. They never ate in the kitchen anyway. 

Sighing upon her departure from the kitchen, Antonin retreated to the deck of the little house they lived in together. Hermione had bought it with the knowledge she’d be volunteering to rehabilitate former Death Eaters, much to the disapproval of her friends. They’d come around after a rather spectacular show of her temper one night. Antonin had smiled, having been on the receiving end of one of those blow-outs from her mother once. 

Hermione hated that he’d taken up smoking, something she never failed to remind him and Sirius of whenever he came around. The Potter kid had practically proposed marriage when Hermione brought that fucker back through the Veil. 

Taking a deep drag, the smoke curled around in his mouth and escaped slowly through his lips, rising into the sky and briefly obscuring his view of the stars. He allowed his mind to wander to a time when this could’ve been the home he lived in with his  _ zolotse _ and  _ pchelka _ . 

Tonight, Antonin needed the release the chemicals brought him. 

* * *

The next day, Antonin awoke early and went for a run around their little neighbourhood. They were mandated by the program to live in a Muggle community, but Hermione had toed the line by choosing one right outside a Wizarding village where the rest of her friends lived. Antonin and Thor were able to visit them whenever Hermione did and relish in the feel of being surrounded by magic again. Hermione did what she could for their home, but only so much worked without Muggles noticing. Thankfully, she and the Weasley patriarch developed a way for them to have Muggle technology around magic. 

At the very least, Antonin enjoyed having a telly. 

Walking through the door, he headed immediately up the stairs and to his bedroom. He shared the top floor with Hermione, and Thorfinn got the whole basement to himself. Unfortunately for Antonin, upon reaching the upstairs landing, he heard a sound coming from Hermione’s room. 

A sound he never wanted to hear again for the rest of his life. 

He didn’t think he’d been quiet, hitting the front door on the wall the way Hermione hated and throwing his keys into the bowl Hermione dictated for them. He’d even been pretty loud with his footfalls on the stairs. Apparently, the two  _ children _ were so distracted by each other that none of his noises registered, and they thought he was still out on his morning run. 

Taking a deep, soothing breath like Hermione taught him when he was angry, he took off one of his running shoes and unceremoniously threw it at the door. The noises stopped abruptly. 

He then went into the bathroom and started his shower. 

After he had scrubbed himself clean from his run, he wished he could wash his brain clean of that memory. Towelling his long dark hair dry, he wrapped a second around his waist and walked to his room. He definitely did not notice that Hermione’s door was now open and the sneaky kids were nowhere to be seen. 

Yes, he recognised that she was twenty-five now—an adult. No, that did not mean he would admit to himself she wasn’t his pure little princess still, untouched by man… or at the very least, untouched by  _ Thor _ . 

Dressing in a pair of firmly broken-in denims he’d had for a couple of years now and a soft t-shirt, he looked in his floor-length mirror. Antonin ran his fingers through his hair to get some of the curl out and grabbed a dab of his hair gel. Not enough to make it shiny and stiff, but enough to keep it out of his face and laid back a bit. Thorfinn, who enjoyed learning Muggle terms from Potter and Hermione, loved to tease Antonin that he was a “DILF.” At just over forty-six years old, he had to agree; he looked good even for a wizard. Sirius promised to take him clubbing, or whatever the hell that was—apparently, it would be somewhere he could pick up a “pretty bird.” Antonin hated birds, but according to Sirius, this version meant women for some reason. 

Turning his arm over, he smiled at the design Hermione helped create that now fully covered his dark mark. While Antonin was glad for the horrid reminder to be gone, he never wanted to get another tattoo again. Thorfinn, on the other hand, was basically covered now, swiftly becoming enthralled with Muggle and Wizarding tattoos alike. 

He hopped downstairs and into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, spying Thor and Hermione at the dining room table already enjoying some eggs. Antonin opted for cereal, still not getting the hang of cooking without a little magical assistance. 

They wouldn’t meet his eyes as he sat down and poured a cuppa Hermione must’ve made. Adding sugar and a bit of cream, Antonin slowly stirred his tea while staring between the two troublemakers. 

“Good morning, Antonin,” Hermione greeted after a moment, clearing her throat. Thor focused so hard on his eggs, Antonin was worried he was going to burst a blood vessel. 

“Mmhhmmm,” Antonin grumbled, and side-eyed his daughter. “Good morning indeed, it seems.”

Hermione promptly went red, and Thor choked on his eggs. The fucker. 

No one spoke for a while after that until Thorfinn mentioned the pumpkins and Hermione’s excitement returned. Her glittering eyes melted Antonin’s frosty demeanour, the morning revelations forgotten. 

“Alright, so, this is what you do,” Hermione started when they each sat at their own place at the kitchen table in front of a pumpkin with a set of little plastic tools. Antonin held one and glared at it before listening to her instructions. 

He picked a traditional face, but Thor, of course, had to pick something stupidly complicated. 

Drawing the shapes with a marker, they all began to cut the tops off and empty the contents of the pumpkins. Hermione reminded them for the sixth time to pick out the seeds from the mush and save them so she could make roasted pumpkin seeds. 

Antonin absolutely hated it.

The pumpkin innards felt horrible in his hands, and he shuddered when thinking about how much was getting under his fingernails—they would be orange for a week. But when he looked over at Hermione’s face switching between stubborn concentration and bright joy, he huffed inwardly and carried on. 

Suddenly, there was a splat and a cold glob on Antonin’s cheek. He looked up and glared at the wall as he reached a hand to wipe away the orange snot. Raising an eye toward Thor, who was frozen, his pumpkin held to the side with his little orange shovel. With a look that screamed ‘oh fuck’ on his face, Antonin found the culprit. 

A giggle from his right drew his attention to his curly-haired  _ pchelka _ , who covered her mouth, trying to hide her unadulterated glee. Shoulders slumping, and giving up on the five different revenge plans already formed in his head, he huffed and grimaced at her. This just made her laugh harder, and soon, even Thor was chuckling loudly. 

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Antonin grumbled at the blonde giant. 

“Thank Merlin for that,” Thor said, getting a dreamy look on his face that Hermione returned. 

Antonin felt his cereal try to return.

Two hours and a heap of pumpkin goo later, Antonin had a definite “Jack-O-Lantern,” Hermione had a cat shape riding a broom, and Thor had a… something. He was genuinely proud of it, but Hermione covering her confusion with over the top praise told Antonin that Thor didn’t exactly get his pumpkin quite right. 

Nevertheless, Hermione proudly set them out on the front stoop and took a magical picture of them all standing behind their individual pumpkin. While she went about framing it and picking the perfect spot to hang it, Antonin pulled Thor out onto the back deck for a talk.

“So,” Antonin began, staring at Thor in a way that wouldn’t give his thoughts away. 

“Listen, Antonin, I was going to tell you, but I didn’t know how you’d react,” Thorfinn started, but Antonin held up a hand to cut him off.

“How long?”

“We only just realised we shared feelings this month. What you heard this morning was only the second—”

“Nope,” Antonin cut him off again. “Don’t want to know. I just want to know if this is serious or if you’re just playing with her.”

Thor had the sense to look appalled, “This is definitely more than just some shag, Antonin. I care about her.”

“Are you going to court her? What about when you’re allowed to move out after your second program hearing? Are you just going to up and leave her? Leave us? And when were you going to ask my permission?” Antonin rounded on him and took a step closer with each question until he was poking Thor in the chest to emphasise every word of the last one. Thor’s eyes were wide, and Antonin had been so focused, he didn’t hear the back door slide open.

“Why would he need your permission?”

Antonin turned around so fast, his mouth dropping open, and his heart sinking down into his stomach. Hermione stood there, her brows furrowed like they did when she was stuck on a problem, her hands on her hips, her mouth taut with thinly veiled frustration. As if she couldn’t understand Antonin’s audacity to say such a thing. 

“Hermione—”

“Why. Would. He. Need. Your. Permission, Antonin?” she asked again, choppy and barely maintaining control. 

“You need to tell her,” Thorfinn put a hand on Antonin’s shoulder. Antonin only wasted a second on thinking about how good it would feel to throw him over the deck.

“Tell me what?” Hermione’s chin quivered. 

Antonin  _ hated _ it when her chin quivered. 

“Hermione, I think we should talk.”

* * *

  
  


Thorfinn left them on the deck for an hour, sitting in the living room to give them their privacy. His knee kept bouncing, and he almost tore out some of his beard with how roughly he ran his fingers through it. 

The back door slammed open, and a Hermione-sized blur ran through the room and out the door. 

Thor stood up quickly, but not fast enough to catch her. Walking swiftly to the ajar front door, he turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“She said she needed some space to think. She’ll be back,” Antonin informed him, looking past Thor and toward the way Hermione ran. 

“How’d she take it?” Thorfinn asked lamely, thinking this was good enough reason to assume she took it poorly. 

“She had a lot of questions,” Antonin answered simply. 

“Did you tell her who her mom was?” 

Antonin simply shook his head and ushered the Viking back inside. They closed the door but left it unlocked since, in her hurry to leave, she didn’t take her keys. Sitting on the sofa once more, Thorfinn watched as Antonin climbed the stairs to his room, moving like a man just getting out of a full-body bind curse. 

Leaning back and looking at the ceiling, Thor closed his eyes and waited for his girl to return. 

Night just started to fall when the front door creaked open quietly. A small shuffling woke Thor up to a place just between sleeping and waking. A cold body curling onto his lap and into his arms had him slowly opening his eyes as he wrapped her up in a blanket. 

“How are you feeling, little love?” Thorfinn whispered quietly, burying his face into her larger than normal curls. 

“Confused… but alright. I think somewhere deep down, I already knew,” Hermione admitted and lifted her head slightly to look at him. 

“Yeah?” Thor inquired, wondering how she could have felt that. 

“He was just so… different from what I expected him to be. He tried so hard in the beginning. As if he was making up for some past grievance.” Thor lightly ran his finger along her chest where they both knew she had a deep purple scar. “Yes, I figured it was that at first, but it just seemed… Deeper. I guess. I don’t know. We just felt… connected? I think that’s the best word for it.”

“Bonds are a powerful and mysterious magic. Your core may have been calling to him without you even noticing,” Thorfinn explained. Bonds were something even purebloods admitted to knowing little about. A lot of the studies were just guesses and theories. 

“Probably,” Hermione mumbled, looking over Thor’s shoulder as if she was a million miles away. 

Smirking slightly, he leant in and captured the side of her mouth. She responded almost immediately, turning her face to his and parting her lips. They kissed for a while, Thor allowing her to lose herself in the feelings. She needed a distraction. She needed grounding. 

Her hips started moving on their own, and Thor groaned into her mouth, loving the friction she created. It didn’t take long for his cock to become hard enough to cut glass, and Hermione thrust with renewed purpose when she felt him pushing into her heat. His hands dragged down her back to cup her pert little arse just the way she liked, and she rewarded him with a small little kitten moan that had his blood singing in his veins. 

Using the leverage his hand placement gave him, he pulled her roughly against his cock and thrust upward at the same time, slamming her centre and causing them both to start breathing heavily. Thorfinn was so close to ripping her jeans off and burying himself into her wet cunt like he had this morning—and last night—but something in the back of his mind told him not to. 

So into helping Hermione come back to herself, neither noticed the new presence until he was cursing at them.

“Thor? Did Hermione come ba—Oh, fucking hell!” Antonin exclaimed, causing the two on the couch to burst out into laughter at his shock and the fact he was covering his eyes as if severely offended by the sight of them. 

That one moment broke the tension that seemed to follow the father and daughter into the house from their talk out back. Hermione rolled off Thor, still laughing and holding her stomach while Antonin grimaced playfully at them both and sat in his recliner, leaving the couch to them. Thor’s erection was swiftly deflated, thank Salazar. 

“So, is there anything else you wanted to know,  _ Pchelka _ ?” Antonin asked when Hermione got her giggle under control. 

“Just a couple things,” she admitted and sat up, leaning back into the plush sofa. Thorfinn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“Which are?” Antonin asked. 

“Who was my mom? My birth mom?” Hermione stared at the carpet, and Thor felt her hold her breath. He could tell she was bracing herself for something, probably to be told her mother was also a Death Eater or a groupie of some sort. 

“Her name was Mary MacDonald. She was a Gryffindor, much like yourself. And she set fire to everything she ever did. I’ve never met another woman with as much passion and drive as your mother. She was a lower pureblood, only a few generations new, but she couldn’t have given two shits about anyone’s status. While admirable now, with you and your friends, it painted a target on her back then. Mulciber was the first to attack her due to her ‘blood traitor’ status. We kept our relationship a secret until then, but the utter pounding I gave him when I found out what he’d done was enough to tell him and everyone else just what she meant to me. 

“We started courting—officially—the day after graduation. But when Da told me of my future, she left me. She wouldn’t have any part of Riddle’s war, as she called it. The only way she would have been involved was to fight someone like him. I had no choice; I let her go. It was safer for her if I made it seem like we parted because of my decision versus hers, but I had no idea she was pregnant. My only guess is that she set up a Plan B for you if anything were to happen to her, and erased the Granger’s memories much like you did, to ever know they’d made the deal.”

Thorfinn listened to the story he’d heard before—if only a little less detailed. Hermione had released her breath upon hearing her mother’s name, and then became enraptured in the history Antonin wove for her. He remembered her looking much the same way back when she was a little first year at Hogwarts, reading books at meals, and annoying all the upper levels like himself. 

“One other thing,” Hermione whispered after digesting all that she had been told. 

“Yes, my  _ Pchelka _ ?” Antonin asked softly, not wanting to scare her off again.

“I already had a father. I don’t need another one.” Thor looked over and saw Antonin stiffen, ready for the blow she would inevitably deal. “But I was wondering if it would be alright if I called you Papa?” 

Thor gaped at Antonin, who stared right back. Looking over at Hermione, he saw that a small smirk played on her lips, and Thor realised right then and there, she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Absolutely,” Antonin breathed when he finally snapped out of it. 

“You little snake,” Thorfinn whispered in her ear, nibbling it once. 

“I’m gonna have to get used to this, aren’t I?” Antonin deadpanned. 

Hermione burst out giggling, and both she and Thor shrugged, nodding their heads at the same time. 

“You both are disgusting,” Antonin sighed heavily and leant back in his chair, looking defeated. “Fine. But on one condition.”

Hermione and Thor sat up straight, losing their laughter immediately and happy to acquiesce to whatever Antonin needed to allow them to continue the way they have been.

“I get the basement now.”

Giggles erupted once again, but with Hermione agreeing profusely and making plans to change everything around as soon as Halloween passed. Thorfinn didn’t begrudge the man his condition and was happy to move to the same floor as his little love. 

All three of them went outside to light the candles Hermione had placed in their pumpkins earlier and left them to flicker delightedly in the soft autumn breeze that whistled through the trees on that October night. 

“Can we have dinner now? I’m fucking starving,” Thorfinn asked aloud, causing Antonin to smack the back of his head, and Hermione to break into a completely new round of giggles. 

  
_fin._


End file.
